


That Which Cannot Be Written

by silvertales



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvertales/pseuds/silvertales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick stumbles over something unexpected... and revealing. For the 2012 BruceDickFest on Tumblr. Prompt: box of letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which Cannot Be Written

**Author's Note:**

> Unrepentant sap.  
> Thanks to Yam for the edits!

“How can such an overwhelmingly OCD kinda guy have such a messy desk,” Dick muttered as he rooted through the drawers of the massive oak desk in Bruce’s Wayne Manor office. The surface was neatly organized, probably put to rights a few times a day by a doting Alfred, but the drawers were a disaster.

Commemorative plaques never displayed were shoved aside, as were various Certificates of Appreciation, stray pens, legal paper pads with random notes scribbled on crumpled pages, an old and forgotten permission slip for a school field trip from back when Dick was in junior high –a huff of fond amusement escaped him- until his hand brushed across a-

“Ha! Got it!” Dick pulled the old, wooden box from the drawer. It wasn’t the first box he’d found on his foray through the desk. On the opposite side of the chair there had been two boxes, one with miscellaneous expensive, blank stationary, embossed with the Wayne family crest, and the other with letters to and from Thomas and Martha Wayne, bound in tattered and faded yellow ribbon, from their days as childhood sweethearts. Though curious, Dick had continued his search for the box Bruce wanted. All he'd said was it would be in his desk.

He lifted the delicate, brass latch and opened the hinged lid, looking for the-

Dick stopped, catching his name on one of the folded letters within. This hadn’t been what Bruce had sent him searching for, and he knew he shouldn’t pry, but… well; the letter _was_ addressed to him.

Make that letters, _lots_ of them. All written in Bruce’s neat, looping hand, crisply folded, and tucked into the box, dated and in order. Dick checked the dates; one for every day since they’d had the knock-down, drag-out, that had resulted in him being fired as Robin, stopping the day he’d come back to support Tim’s bid to be the Bat’s newest partner.

Dick was stunned. The random letter he’d unfolded read like a journal entry. Bruce detailed his day as though sharing it with Dick, everything from little observations on life to suggestions for upgrades to the Manor's security systems or the Batmobile. It was all written as if a reply was expected.

Dick reached for the first letter in the box, written the very night he’d left. It was short, brutally and honestly so.

_Dear Dick, I miss you._

The first few letters were similarly short and direct _: I miss you, you weren’t here again today - it’s too quiet in this house now_ ; a few maudlin _: I don’t know how to do this without you anymore_ ; to outright apologetic: _you were right - Robin wasn’t mine to take - I’m sorry_.

Dick pushed the heel of his free hand against his eyes, the tell-tale prickle of tears stinging behind his lids as he read, for the first time, words he’d longed to hear for so many frustratingly silent years.

The letters changed when Jason came along, still personal and revealing, but more expository, as though recording the day to be shared later. _He’s coming along, Dick, but… he’s not you, he’ll never be you- there’s laughter in the house again, but it’s bitter and hollow- I know you watch over him when he’s out there._

When Jason died, all of Bruce’s worst fears came to life and he surprised Dick by pouring them out on the pages: _I never should have taken him in- he’d have been better off without me… and so, it seems, are you- he’s dead because of me and I find myself thinking ‘thank God it wasn’t you,’ and I hate myself a little more for it._

The rapid blinking couldn’t quite clear the blur of rising tears from his vision.

They’d barely been on speaking terms when Dick had moved to Blüdhaven, and still the words spilled from Bruce’s hand _: I watch you on the rooftops of the ‘haven, I can’t help myself- I need to know you’re all right out there… and you are, you’re better than all right, you’re magnificent_ ; and the first strains of the deepest roots of what had led to their split in the first place _: you were right, I was scared… but, it wasn’t of you being hurt, it was of the depth of my feelings for you_.

Once Bruce had written the truth of his feelings, they seemed to flow unencumbered; they moved from self-loathing and punishing: _I thought myself a monster for my feelings… my urges- I had raised you, and all I could see was my desire;_ to painfully uncertain _: how could you ever see me as more than a mentor, more than the failed father figure I tried to be_ ; to effusive: _you always were a beautiful child, but one day I turned around and you were a young man, sixteen and better than I ever was, and so striking it took my breath away._

There were so many letters, saying so much, more than Bruce had ever said in words… all those things that were there in his eyes if you knew how to look, and yet, that were overwhelmed and drowned by heated words and quicksilver tempers…

… And, he’d never sent them, not a single one.

Dick didn’t know what to think, surrounded by these little glimpses into Bruce’s heart and mind while they’d been apart. It had taken years and distance and painful silences, but they’d eventually come back to each other, slowly but surely. It was inevitable, really, both inexorably drawn together over time, each to the other’s orbit. 

The early days had been tentative, reestablishing the boundaries of their friendship, but now…

Dick never thought he could have this, have Bruce, but, by the man’s own words…

“Dick, have you found the-“ Bruce’s deep voice cut across his musings, as the man himself entered the room, stopping short at the sight of Dick on the floor, seated in the center of hundreds of unfolded pages and a very familiar box.

“Oh.”

Bruce fidgeted, shifting his weight, before carefully crossing the room to kneel before the younger man. Dick’s head was still bowed over the letter in his hand, the page trembling ever so slightly in his grip, and Bruce didn’t even know where to start. Given the choice, he’d never have wanted Dick to see those letters, those damning admissions that fuelled his most passionate dreams. But, he couldn’t be mad at the young man for finding them. Yes, he’d written them--- needed to write them--- but he’d never intended to send them.

He’d never wanted to expose those dark yearnings to his bright boy, too terrified that it would be the final straw in their often tumultuous relationship. But, no matter their separations, Dick always came back. Bruce _needed_ him to come back. He didn’t know how to do any of this without knowing Dick was there anymore.

“Dick, I-“ Bruce started, voice weak and quiet. His big hands clenched into fists at his side, desperate to reach out, to touch those strong, sculpted shoulders, but uncertain… painfully so. “Let me-“

“Why?” It was quiet and spoken to the floor, but Bruce heard it loud and clear. Dick missed the look of sheer anguish that crossed Bruce’s face as the older man tried to find a way to answer, only to be surprised at what followed.

“Why didn’t you ever _say_ anything? For years, I thought you… I thought I’d… but, and I never imagined it could be real… that I could have-” Dick blew out a frustrated sigh and dropped the letter to run his hands through the raven-dark silk of his hair. He looked up and met Bruce’s eyes, his own red-rimmed and ablaze with everything Dick had kept locked inside since he was sixteen and terrified of being discovered.

Bruce gasped at everything he read in that bright blue gaze; love, pain, yearning, desperation, fear, confusion, need…. All that and more was echoed in the protective curl of his shoulders, the tight line of his strong jaw, the pillow of his lower lip worried between his teeth, and the absent twining of his fingers.

“Dick?” Bruce couldn’t allow himself to hope that he was truly seeing everything he thought he was, everything he wanted to see. Losing Dick for good would be too much.

“I’ve loved you forever, Bruce, but I never thought you could ever feel that way for me. I never thought I could even tell you how I felt; I was so afraid of losing everything, losing _you,_ of just never being good enough to _-“_

Bruce surged forward and cupped that much-loved face in his hands, interrupting the choked and halted words, running his thumbs over wet and silvered tracks beneath those bright eyes. Dick's mouth fell slack in a soft 'o' of surprise.

“Stop, Dick,” he whispered, _please stop_ , pressing his lips to the younger man’s forehead, his voice tight at the thought of causing this effervescent soul continuous pain. “First, you will _never_ lose me, _never_. Do you understand? There is nothing you could ever do that would ever make me turn you away.”

Dick’s eyes were wide, still clouded with confusion; his body still with surprise and no little shock.

“Say you understand, Dick,” Bruce kept his hands on that handsome face, his own eyes squeezing shut. He felt the head in his strong hands nod slowly, shallow breaths puffed into the hollow of his throat. Something inside uncoiled just a little at the trust and unfailing belief this young man had in him. Now, it was past time to prove himself in return.

Bruce pulled back, but only far enough to look into wet and vibrant blue eyes, soothing Dick’s wounded hum and the desperate grip on his forearms with a quiet “shh,” and gentle brushes of his thumbs across blushed cheeks. Faced with the knowledge that Dick not only loved him, but had for years, should have made these confessions easier; especially since Dick had already read the truth in letters never sent, but Bruce knew he needed to speak the words out loud. He needed to say them, not only for Dick, but for himself.

“Everything I said in those letters is true, Dick. I _do_ love you.” Bruce watched as Dick’s eyes slid shut and a tremor ran through his shoulders. “I have _always_ loved you, even when things were… difficult between us.”

Dick snorted a quiet laugh and opened his eyes again.

“You always were a master of understatement, Bruce.”

Bruce smiled softly, thankful for Dick’s buoyant spirit and sense of humor. It had saved him from himself time and time again.

“When you first came to live here, you were so young, so small, and so quiet. I know you were reliving your parents’ deaths every moment of every day. I wanted only to make sure things were better for you.” Bruce smiled down into Dick’s face. “You soon blossomed into the bright, open, frenetic boy you just can’t hide no matter how hard you try.

“When you were a child, I loved you as a parent does; wanted to be sure you were safe, happy, ready for the world outside. And then you grew up.” Dick was staring up at him with rapt attention, hanging on every word, and Bruce nearly fell into the depths of that bright, wet gaze.

“I know I said it in the letters, but one day, I turned around and you were a young man, and so _strong_ and _beautiful_ it took my breath away,” Bruce whispered, “and my feelings for you changed. I still wanted to make sure you were safe and happy, but I also wanted you in my arms, in my bed, and I just didn’t know how to reconcile that within myself.

“How could I want that from you when I’d raised you as my own, how could I-“

Dick pushed forward, interrupting Bruce’s words by pressing their lips together.

Bruce stopped breathing. Dick’s lips were soft, the kiss gentle, tentative, and he could taste the salt of the younger man’s tears. The hands gripping his forearms moved up over his shoulders and behind his neck, long, strong fingers running into his dark hair, and Bruce was undone.

A sharp breath huffed against his mouth as Bruce took control, slanting his mouth over the younger man’s and licking his way inside, groaning at the warmth and enthusiasm with which Dick returned his kiss. As Dick pulled back, Bruce followed, arms moving to draw the young man closer, crushing them together, Dick nearly in his lap.

Dick was smiling when the kiss ended, eyes bright, arms still wrapped around Bruce’s neck. He gasped and trembled as Bruce moved his strong, clever hands down between the waistband of his jeans and warm, naked skin to clutch at toned muscle.

A moan caught in Bruce's throat as his bright boy- no, his partner's- pleasant weight settled over him. He lost his words completely when Dick wriggled _down_ into him.

“I think we can reconcile our mutual feelings rather nicely upstairs, don’t you?” Dick breathed between brushing feather-light kisses across the other man's lips and jaw.

Bruce growled into Dick’s neck as he moved his grasp to Dick’s firm buttocks to heft the younger man completely into his arms, rising steadily to his feet and moving swiftly to the stairs; Dick’s bright laughter faded to breathy sighs as the men left the floor scattered with unsent letters.


End file.
